Bovines of Radhakund

Memories of Radhakund

Basket Case

Basket Case with Pink Ball

Patience; her hand will tire

Wait she'll succumb to my charms

Existential question: what, who why?

Sharpening my teeth for future encounters

You mean to say, you need a dictionary to read Tono Bungay?

Growing up is such a pain - braces, ugh!

Thirsty kya?

After all the scampering around, need a bucket full of water to slake the thirst

Fun time at the Cankids Day Care & Transition Home

A happy Alka bonding with her mother

Krish struggling bravely with the cycle

Bam Bam with his hoard of balloons

Mohit's (right corner) father reading out a story

A coy Bam Bam cycling all over the Ward

For a video of Bam Bam please follow this link:

http://youtu.be/MuS5SToBSwE

Rest In Peace: Vivek

Vivek was the second child to be admitted to our Centre way back in July this year. As his disease and treatment progressed, he required readmissions many times. He and his mother preferred to stay at the Centre rather than undertake the arduous commute from Moradabad.

Vivek was a boisterous teenager when bone cancer near his right knee changed his life drastically more than a year ago. Vivek had lost his father when he was two years old and his mother had single handedly brought him up, along with his two elder sisters, who doted on him. Vivek's mother worked as an ayah and somehow made ends meet.

The relentless progress of Vivek's cancer just drained the vitality from this adorable and ever-smiling lad. Despite the heroic efforts of his oncologists, the cancer spread to his lungs. 

Towards the end, he suffered from an intractable cough and constantly remained breathless. No medicines helped him; he could neither sleep at night nor eat anything. I decided to start him on a low dosage morphine regimen, although he had no pain. His mother was agreeable to this. Just 2.5 mg of morphine every four hours brought about a dramatic improvement in both his distressing symptoms. His cough disappeared and his breathing improved significantly, permitting him to sleep comfortably at night. 

However, since his overall condition was deteriorating, his mother decided to take him home so that he could be with his sisters.

Vivek took his last peaceful breath on 14 Oct 2012. I will always cherish the memory of his enchanting smile.

May God grant his mother and sisters the fortitude to bear this irreplaceable loss.

Why Fear Death?

We sometimes congratulate ourselves at the moment of waking from a troubled dream; it may be so the moment after death.

 - Nathaniel Hawthorne, writer (1804-1864)

Doggerel

Delhi's Doggy denizen

Dreaming of venison

Rummaging through the garbage

As if it was in Carthage

Waiting for his pension

Below the stairway to Heaven

Yusuf Sarai Community Centre Canine Association President 19 September 2012

10 Oct 2012

24 Sep 2012

22 Sep 2012

Mango People of a Banana Republic

Well, I am proud to be a mango person; as a matter of fact, I am a चौसा Mango Person. Mr Vadra, it is crooks like you that turned this lovely country into a banana republic.

Here is my photo:

Rest in Peace: Ashma

Ashma was one of the most ebullient children that I have come across. Fate dealt a cruel blow to this pretty and vivacious teenager from a small village in West UP, when she was diagnosed with Osteogenic Sarcoma of the right femur (thigh bone). The  disease was at such a stage that the limb had to be amputated at mid-thigh level. Ashma's life was shattered and her poor parents and siblings devastated with this sudden turn of events in their ingenuous and pastoral life.

To add insult to the injury, the disease was found to have spread to other parts of her body and she was administered metronomic chemotherapy (a low dose chemotherapy protocol that does not cause too many of the common side effects, yet is theoretically said to retard the growth of the cancer).

Ashma came to our Centre nearly two months ago in excruciating pain she experienced in the stump of her amputated leg. She was suffering from ‘phantom limb pain’ and was constantly whimpering in agony. Within a day we managed to alleviate her misery with morphine, clonazepam, pregabalin and amitriptyline. The concern of her parents too was somewhat allayed. 

Once her pain and other symptoms were resolved Ashma showed her true joviality and impishness. One day our conversation went thus:

Ashma (handing me her battered cell-phone): मेरे फ़ोन मैं देखो कितना बैलेंस है।

Me: मुझे तुम्हारे फ़ोन मैं  बैलेंस देखना नहीं आता।

Ashma (annoyed): किसने डाक्टर बना दिया तुम्हें की फ़ोन मैं बैलेंस देखना नहीं आता।

I was left speechless. She grabbed the phone out of my hand and frowned in mock anger and then gave me the most beatific smile that moved me to tears.

She was ready to pounce on me for the slightest slip-up on my part. 

God forbid there was a power outage that lasted for more than five minutes; डीज़ल बचने की कोशिश कर रहे हो। जेनेरेटर चलवाओ was the retort. जो आज्ञा आशमा बेगम I would say genuflecting in mock servitude and comply with her wishes.

Pointing at the relatively bland food that we provide form our kitchen, Her Highness Ashma wanted some तीखा अचार to spice up her lunch one day.

She loved to dress up to be photographed and pestered our other team members for bangles, ear-rings and a necklace. Her other passion was listening to devotional music on her cell-phone. If she was in a good mood she indulged in some Bollywood songs. She complied with my request when I asked her to reduce the volume so as not tho disturb the other children in the Ward. However, slyly she would gradually increase the volume; this was a perpetual tussle between us and she invariably got the better of me.

One day I found her arguing with her mother in her typical petulant way - she wanted to go home to attend Eid festivities. I let them go home armed with a two week supply of medicines. As she waved to us she said ominously मैं वापस आऊंगी ... like a Hindi-speaking Arnold Schwarzenegger.

  

She was back within a week. She had had a good time but she was again in pain. We had to titrate the dose of her medicines upwards till she was pain free. However, her condition had started to deteriorate. The size of the tumor kept increasing in her amputated stump and there was stony hard swelling in her abdomen. One day her kidneys just stopped functioning and she became comatose. I spent the night at the Centre. Her mother asked her father to come urgently. As Ashma's respiration became shallower, we administered oxygen. By 1 am her father and relatives had arrived. The father called out to her and lo and behold, Ashma opened her eyes! She looked around her, pulled off the oxygen mask and glared at me  यह क्या लगा रखा है!?

She went home once again but was back within a week in severe pain. This was a turbulent period with more bad days than good days. Her appetite and vivacity diminished and the requirement for analgesics increased. Her natural resilience failed and she gradually withdrew into her private world. A few days ago she expressed the desire of going home to attend her childhood friend's marriage. I wondered what her innermost thoughts would have been - did she visualize herself as a bride if she had not fallen ill, did she blame anyone for her sorry state? When we tried to draw her out she just closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.

When she went this time she did not bid any of farewell or look at anyone. I kept in touch with her father and he told me of her progressively getting worse. Yesterday she was in a delirium and today at 11 am she quietly passed away amongst her loved ones.

The father tearfully informed me that one of her last coherent sentences was मुझे सर के पास वापस ले चलो। I was too overcome to offer solace to the bereaved father.